Big Shot
by FelineExorcist
Summary: If anyone knows the song "Big Shot" by the much loved Billy Joel...  When Alfred goes to far, what then is a poor Brit to do?


Big Shot

The light on the ceiling seemed the only thing that moved in the world. It quivered and danced on the graying white, while everything else was still. Arthur didn't even think he was breathing, but he was conscious so he must have been, somehow. _Still awake_, he thought, _after everything last night._ These last four words lingered on the edge of his mind as he sleeplessly stared up, lying on the cream-colored couch of his apartment, hands stretched under his head.

Out of the silence came a rustling from the next room, his bedroom. Arthur knew what it was, could even picture it in his mind- the blonde pushing the sky blue sheet off of his face, eyes of the same color looking around lazily as if trying to place his environment but not really caring what it was. Then he'd lift up his legs, push the sheet down off to his feet, and see the maroon suit that hadn't been bothered with as he was laid unconscious on the bed. Knowing his way around the small apartment, he would then- ah! There was the carpet, and the creak of the bed that sounded whenever it was relieved of human weight.

Arthur knew what he had to do, what to say. It had gone too far this time. And now it was the time to grow out of this childish naivete, the immature conception that being a big shot was all parties and glory. He had hoped to put it off just a few more hours, however, not having expected him to wake up so soon.

"Arthur?" the scratchy voice called.

"Good morning, Alfred." His name was so familiar to his lips. The man it belonged to was an entirely different story. Unsmiling, he asked with a tone more sarcastic than anything else, "How did you sleep?"

"Awful." There was a small pause, as if he was waiting for the other to look at him. "Hey, was I drunk last night?"

"What do you remember?"

"Getting into the limo after the gala... Shit, I was wasted wasn't I? My head's burning like hell."

"Quite." Arthur felt voice stiffen even as he spoke. "Perfectly reasonable. A celebratory bottle to honor you latest success. It's justifiable, yes. That is, until you start dancing on tables." The British man finally turned his head toward his lover. _Lover no more._ Alfred was leaning on the door frame with his arm over his head in a half inviting, half pained fashion. His expression was that of strained playfullness, trying to look just so, and hide the fact that his activities were wearing him down, however much he tried to prove otherwise. At the sight of Arthur's cold look, he shrunk back back, obviously feeling guilty.

"You sure put on a show, Alfred," he said. "You got more attention than Joel did last night." He knew Alfred was ashamed, but that wasn't good enough. Arthur needed to know he wouldn't get out of control like that again. He looked as though he was about to say something, and his face contorted into a coy sort of guilty smile.

"Aw, Artie, did you get jealous because I was paying attention to other people?" The American walked toward the man lying on the couch, reaching over to carress his nearly cleanshaven face.

"No." His voice was full of finality. Arthur pushed Alfred's hand away from his eyebrows, stood up and faced the man he loved so much that he was willing to turn him away for his own good. "You just had to be a big shot last night, didn't you? Open up your mouth and embarrass yourself. I don't have anything to be jealous of. You," Alfred's face changed back to utter shame as Arthur continued, "need to leave. You can't just come bitching to me when this happens. You know that, don't you? You're smarter than that, aren't you?"

"What should I do then?" He knew. Al did understand, even though he constantly made fun of Arthur's excess facial hair and was cocky and obsessed with being the invincible hero all the time, being a big shot. He was a smart man, he just didn't know how to use that.

"Right now?" This was it, the last piece of advice he'd give his love for a very long time. "All I can tell you is to go to the record company and beg for your job back, which you lost last night, by the way. From there, you're on your own, whether you gain back what you had or not."

Alfred's face displayed the expression of a broken and understanding man. Arthur felt a little relief for him, because he _needed_ to understand. He _needed_ to know that it took more than a good voice and tap shoes to be a big shot.


End file.
